Wallflower in the Mortuary
by BasilConundrum
Summary: A series of related and unrelated oneshots about the ups downs of the working relationship between a consulting detective and his pathologist. Sherlolly pairing.
1. Flowers

**First attempt at writing Sherlock. I should get a beta reader later since I am most definitely not British. I plan for this to be a collection of one-shots. Please enjoy and review.**

* * *

Molly Hooper was quite relaxed as she finished stitching up the cadaver. Today had been quiet and without anything-or any_one_ –to add any unneeded stress to her day. The dead woman in front of her (sixty-two years of age, average height, overweight, mother of three, grandmother of eight, married forty years) had died from complications from diabetes, just what Molly had suspected. Blood tests in the lab and her work in the mortuary had confirmed that. Statements from the husband and children added to her conclusion. Despite their attempts to get her to eat healthier and take her medication like she should, this woman couldn't commit herself to living a better life for herself.

After the woman was put away and Molly washed up, she was finally able to collapse in a chair and finish up the paperwork. At this rate, she might even be able to go home early and without a visit from a certain consulting detective either. She had not seen him since he was last in here two days before. That day had been rather trying. She overslept, was nearly half an hour late for work, Sherlock had already begun snooping through her list and running experiments in the lab, he pestered her constantly about wanting to see this body and that body and _when_ was she going to get him that foot for an experiment he needed to prove a man's alibi?

She tried ignoring him as best as she could until he decided to make some snide remark on the quality of her work. The she snapped and told him off, proved that he was wrong and she was right about the cause of death of two of the cadavers lying on metal slabs in the mortuary. In her tirade she only managed to register just a little bit that Sherlock was rendered speechless and John Watson and Detective Inspector Lestrade were snickering at the scene. Sherlock Holmes, dumbfounded and shrinking back from a small and normally even tempered pathologist. Molly smiled to herself at the thought.

The door to the mortuary creaked open and Molly could hear light footsteps walk several paces in. They didn't come anywhere close to her. The owner of the footsteps was keeping their distance. Molly turned around in her chair, confirming her suspicions. Of course Sherlock would stride in here right toward the end of Molly's shift. No doubt he would be expecting her to drop any plans for the evening-which were sadly, nonexistent and he probably knew that, too-to help him with some sort of experiment all because he was bored. There was something quite different about him this evening. He seemed almost…hesitant. Sherlock Holmes never hesitated about _anything. _Of course, he was also a great actor when he wanted something. Then there was the way his arms went behind his back-hiding something, obviously.

"What are you hiding?" Molly asked. Sherlock remained motionless and silent, giving no indication that he heard Molly speak at all. She turned back to the paperwork. If he wasn't going to speak, neither would she. Maybe he was hesitating, maybe he was deducing, and maybe he had an entirely different purpose altogether, but it took almost a full minute before Sherlock walked over to her desk. Molly could detect a very strong scent that was definitely not Sherlock's cologne-and even _that _smelled different today. Wordlessly, Sherlock place a bouquet of flowers on her desk. Just two days before, Molly had made Sherlock speechless with words. Now he had made her speechless with this silent gesture.

"I was informed, numerous times, by both John and Lestrade, that I _might _have been an arse the other day. Alright I _was _an arse," Sherlock added before Molly could say the exact same thing. "Your work has been nothing but phenomenal in all the years that I've known you and I should know better than to question it or imply that your conclusions were wrong. I am truly sorry for what I said." Sherlock cleared his throat. No doubt, admitting all of this was somewhat difficult for him. "I researched on the internet and asked John about what to do when you act like a complete prat to a woman and both suggested flowers."

Molly smiled up at him. "Thank you for buying me the flowers. And for apologizing to me."

Sherlock was looking at the wall, most determinedly _not _looking at Molly. "No need to thank me for the flowers. I didn't buy them. I didn't steal them, either," he added hastily when Molly opened her mouth to protest. "I helped the owner of a flower shop on a case once. Eliza is always happy to repay the favor. It's why Mrs. Hudson always gets flowers on her birthday."

Molly smiled once again and filed the report away in its folder. "Did you need anything?" Molly asked. "A look at a cadaver? Body parts? Did you want to run some sort of experiment in the lab?"

Sherlock finally looked down at her and shook his head. "No. You are obviously finishing up with work and wish to go home. Your plans for the evening are most likely, eating dinner, feeding Toby, and watching some banal show or another on the telly. You do not wish to stay here any longer than necessary. However it is late in the evening, so I will remain here until you are ready to go and you can get into a taxi. At that point I will be assured that no unexpected attacks will occur on you tonight. You are the only competent pathologist they have here at Bart's. My mind would be at ease knowing you get home safely. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Molly ducked her head down. "No reason, really. You just never offer anything like that. Usually when it's you and John here, he's the one that insists you two stay and walk me out. It's not really like you to do remember to do something like that."

Sherlock adjusted his scarf. "Go get your things," he said quietly. Molly left him in the mortuary to his own thoughts. She was right: he never did things like this. He had been feeling different as of late. He'd been acting different, too, according to John. He was used to being considered odd, but apparently, he had been acting odder than usual. He would have to think about this with his violin later.

"I'm not watching telly tonight, by the way," Molly said from the doorway of the mortuary. Sherlock looked at her, waiting for her to continue. "I'm watching a film from one of my DVDs."

"Let me guess," Sherlock said, holding open the door and letting Molly pass. "Is it a musical?"

Molly shook her head, amused. "No."

"Then it must be a period drama. One based on Jane Austen's works that Mrs. Hudson and millions of other women enjoy watching so much?"

"Wrong again."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "I suppose it could be some sort of documentary or a comedy. Or an action movie. Filmmakers will add scenes and plot points purely for the sake of drawing in a female audience. A _James Bond _film?"

"I'll be watching _The Sting,_" Molly finally told him. Sherlock shrugged.

"Never heard of it," he admitted. Molly laughed.

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

* * *

**Sherlock would forget to be the gentleman and escort a lady safely to a cab late at night. John's influence is strong. Internet cookies go to the person who can spot the _My Fair Lady _reference. It is rather obvious.**


	2. The New Pathologist

**Managed to get this typed up faster than I thought I would! This isn't as fluffy as the previous chapter, but I wanted to do my interpretation of Molly and Sherlock meeting. Takes place about two years before series one.**

* * *

"The death didn't seem suspicious at all," Mike Stamford said. "It could have been easily prevented if the man hadn't ignored the signs that he was having a heart attack. The wife, on the other hand, is sure there is foul play involved. She wanted a full autopsy and every test possible conducted. I thought I'd bring you in as well, see if you could spot any anomalies on the body; anything that might make foul play a possibility."

Sherlock took a long drag from his cigarette, deducing Mike. There was something he wasn't telling him. "If that's the case, then why aren't you showing me the body? Or are we just out here to have a tiresome and utterly pointless conversation?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade warned.

"It's a fair question. He hasn't led the way inside of Bart's, he met us outside, he doesn't _want _us to go into the hospital yet, so obviously there is something that Mike isn't telling us. He's withholding information. It's something he either doesn't want to tell me or he's trying to work out _how _to tell me. Just speak, Mike. What is it that you're so hesitant about?"

Mike rolled his eyes. He was used to Sherlock's deductions by now but there were sometimes when they were more annoying than commonplace. "It was the second one, actually. I was working out _how _to tell you. We just hired a new pathologist."

Sherlock sighed. "It's about time. That pathologist you had before was completely incompetent and incapable of doing a proper job."

"I heard about that guy leaving. Didn't he transfer all the way to Edinburgh just to get away from Sherlock?" Lestrade said, unable to keep the smirk off his face. Sherlock scowled at him.

"Yes, actually," Mike confirmed, shaking his head. "Our new pathologist was the top of her class, graduated early; she's already published a paper and is working on another one. She's efficient, thorough, organized, she's a very sweet, caring, and nice girl. The bottom line is, Sherlock: we like this girl. So help me, if she decides to transfer or quit because of you, you will be banned from Bart's until you're one of the bodies on the metal slab. Be nice and do _not _try and deduce her entire life story!"

Sherlock huffed. "I can't help deducing. It's what I do."

"Well then you best hold your tongue, then," Mike warned. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette on the ground.

"I promise to try not to scare the pathologist away," Sherlock said grudgingly. "Now if you'd lead the way. Where is this pathologist now?"

"In the lab," said Mike, holding open the door for Sherlock and Lestrade. "I checked on her before you two showed up. She's running some tests now, said she had a few ideas on how the man's death might have been foul play."

* * *

"Yes!" Molly cheered upon seeing the results on the computer. The door to the lab opened and Mike Stamford poked his head in.

"Something good?" he asked.

"Yes!" Molly smiled. The smile faltered. "Actually, it really is quite terrible but my hypothesis has just been confirmed. So I'm having some mixed feelings about the results." Mike came closer, next to Molly. Behind him, Lestrade and Sherlock slipped in unnoticed. They stayed back, by the door. Sherlock could deduce enough from this distance anyway. Twenty-eight years of age, reserved, seemingly pleasant enough personality (to those who could stand idle chit chat, which he could not), strong morals, humor may be a little on the dark side when one considered her conflicted feelings over a result that at first gave her great happiness. He would know more once he spoke to her.

"I looked at his regular medication that he took so I know what should show up on the blood test," Molly explained. "The only thing is, none of that showed up here. What did show up were very high levels of different chemicals and ingredients that are found in an entirely different medicine. The medicine in question can actually cause blood clots and is not recommended for people with heart disease or heart problems. The original medication was supposed to treat his heart condition."

"So there was a mix-up with the medicine and that killed him?" Mike asked.

Molly nodded. "Or it may not have been a mix-up. I hope it was a mix-up."

"Either way," Lestrade said, "it looks like I'm going to have to have a talk down at the chemist." Molly looked up in surprise, only now noticing the two other men in the room.

"I wouldn't rule out the wife entirely, Lestrade," Sherlock warned, his eyes not leaving the new pathologist. Molly looked at Mike, confused.

"Doctor Hooper, these are the two men I told you about earlier that were coming in to look at Mr. Brown's body," Mike explained, gesturing for them to come closer. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade, one of the best men they have at Scotland Yard. And this is Sherlock Holmes. He makes terrible first impressions, so please ignore anything and everything he says."

Molly shook both of their hands. She was nervous, Sherlock could tell, but wanted to make a good impression and make friends in this new city. "Are you with the police, too?" Molly asked. Lestrade snorted loudly.

"Sorry," he apologized, not looking very sorry at all.

"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock explained. "The police are incompetent and unable to solve cases on their own so they call me in to assist, especially on cases that a _child _could solve." Lestrade slapped him on the back of the head. Molly seemed amused.

"Anyway, Sherlock has permission from the hospital to use the lab whenever he has a case, but sometimes he needs to look at a body and sometimes he does minor experiments on them. He has to have your permission for that. If he ever bothers you, you can kick him out or call security."

"Or if he's being extremely difficult, I could give you my number," Lestrade offered. "One phone call and I'll be down here with a pair of handcuffs for him."

Molly looked nervously between the three men. "Is this something they do here at Bart's to scare new hires they don't like?"

Lestrade sighed. "Trust me, we all wish Sherlock Holmes was an elaborate prank sometimes." Sherlock scowled, wishing he could hit Lestrade.

"Could we see Mr. Brown's body?" Sherlock asked. Molly opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say. She was still nervous. Sherlock remembered what Mike had said about her earlier: she was a sweet, caring, and nice girl. He knew just what he should say, even though he hated to say it. "Please?" Sherlock added.

* * *

"So, that was Sherlock Holmes," Mike said.

"He's rather…interesting," Molly said. "I've never really met a man like him before."

Mike laughed. "You should be thankful for that."

"He actually reminds me a little bit of my dad in an odd way," Molly admitted.

"Well, that's a good thing then. He'd never come out and say it, but Sherlock sees this hospital as his home away from home. You'll see him a lot," Mike warned her. "Good news is: he seems to like your work so hopefully you won't be scared away."

* * *

"I have _never _heard you say please before!" Lestrade said in disbelief as they left the hospital. Sherlock flipped up his coat collar.

"I was told to be nice, so I was nice, no matter how excruciating it was for me," Sherlock growled.

"Oh, sod off!" Lestrade said, giving him a light push.

"Besides, despite her age and lack of experience, Molly Hooper is actually a fairly competent and observant pathologist. Her awkwardness around people in general will be a bit of a problem from time to time, but I can see this arrangement working out just fine."

Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. "It took you six months to learn my surname but you meet that girl once and you don't even get her name wrong."

Sherlock shrugged. "That's because she isn't nearly as big of an idiot as you are. _Ow!"_

* * *

**LESTRADE! I love the BBC version of Lestrade. He's awesome. Sherlock's ow at the end was Lestrade hitting him again, obviously. Also, Mike Stamford made an appearance, making sure Bart's keeps this pathologist. I can totally see someone moving across the country just to get away from Sherlock. I didn't want Molly to be in love at first sight at seeing Sherlock like some people interpret her. At this point, she thinks he's interesting, but she's not in love with him. Also, the only times Sherlock insults Molly in the show are when she's embarrassing herself with her social awkwardness (and when he's being completely clueless at Christmas parties). In Reichenbach, when he told her that conversation wasn't really her area, that was more protecting himself than helping her out. Also, Molly is clearly not stupid like some people interpret her. She's far more intelligent than people give her credit for. Also, she doesn't stutter like Porky Pig like people seem to think she does! Molly rant over.**

**Where's JAWN? He will appear later, when his presence is necessary. And he obviously wasn't around yet at this point.**


	3. Sherlock Holmes: Relationship Ruiner

**This chapter takes place during The Great Game. Thought I'd expand on the scene a little bit.**

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No match. No match. No match. The words kept flashing up on the computer screen, mocking him as his time to solve the mystery in front of him was ticking by. He wasn't bored anymore. No, whoever had sent him the phone, the shoes, was playing a game. The rules were scarce and the opponent, though he could guess, was still uncertain. John was pacing, worrying about the woman that was a literal ticking time bomb somewhere. Sherlock had learned early on in his detecting days that if he tried caring about the victim, it was a waste of time. Caring got you too wrapped up in the case and if you failed to save that person, you would fall hard.

Mycroft kept texting him, annoying him. Why wasn't he calling? It was much easier to just let him leave a long winded message. Why hadn't he cancelled his dental appointment? And where was Molly? He was coming close to a result and she loved hearing about his cases. Though, he would have to leave out the part about the woman being strapped to a bomb. John's empathy for others was annoying whereas Molly's was unsettling.

The computer alerted him to a positive result. At that same moment, as if it was planned, Molly came into the lab, smiling at him

"Any luck?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock said. John moved away from the computer so that Molly could come and look at the results for herself. Sherlock was prepared to launch into his explanation of the soil samples before he moved on to deducing the shoes when the door to the lab opened and someone unknown to the consulting detective came poked their head inside. Molly was flustered upon seeing this man-she called him Jim. She was nervous, she was smiling, she was happy. Molly Hooper had actually found someone that lasted past one date. Maybe she might even have a long term relationship with him. Annoyed, Sherlock peered into the microscope again.

Molly had notoriously bad luck with men. Most of the time, they never called again once they heard what she did for a living. She'd go out on these dates for lunch, anxious and excited, then come back disappointed and she wouldn't be nearly as chatty as she normally was. For some reason, this one stuck past the first date. He was used to working with single Molly, working with in-a-relationship Molly was something he wouldn't look forward to; it gave him an uneasy feeling.

There _had _to be something wrong with this one. There was something wrong with all the others. There was the one who was cheating on his wife and his three other girlfriends, there was the one who secretly had a kid in America, there was the one that decided to propose marriage before dinner even arrived to their table, there was the one that said he was looking for someone he could settle down with but really just wanted to sleep with her and never call her again (Sherlock was lucky to uncover that one earlier than usual and warn Molly; he did not need an emotionally damaged pathologist), and finally the one that tried to flee the country after it was found he was involved in several online scams that cheated thousands of people out of their money. He always warned her when he found out these secrets and Molly would always be angry at these men and herself when Sherlock's deductions were accurate.

"Every time I think I find a nice guy, you come along and spoil everything," Molly said once, annoyed.

"For good reason," Sherlock reminded her. "Your emotions would affect your work and there is a serial murderer on the loose. How is that blood analysis coming along?"

Jim was trying to say something to him, annoying him. Molly was making bad jokes again. She liked this man, but there was _always _something wrong with them. She was always attracted to men that were bad for her and never to men that were good for her. She'd put on three pounds since he last saw her. Something had to be wrong if she was eating more sweets after work than usual. Sherlock looked at Jim, to see what was wrong with this one.

Oh! That was it! He found out what was wrong with this one, too.

"Gay," he said out loud before he could stop himself, looking back at the microscope. Molly was immediately alarmed, her smile dropping from her face. Sherlock tried to cover up what he said to Jim as the gay man clumsily left his number for Sherlock under a dish.

Once Jim had left the room Molly demanded an explanation from Sherlock, which he gladly gave her, even if he was 'spoiling everything' again. Jim was gay, using Molly as a cover for some reason. He was surprised Molly hadn't picked up on it sooner. However, he could tell her now, and his solid deduction would back him up. Rather than attempt any sort of long term relationship with this man, Molly should break it off now. Besides, they weren't exclusive, and clearly hadn't been out on that many dates. Sherlock was somewhat pleased with himself. This was his best timing yet out of all of Molly's attempts at romance. She would be happy that this had been brought to her attention sooner rather than later and Sherlock would have an unattached pathologist working with him again.

So why did she look angry as she stormed from the lab? Hadn't he done the right thing?

"Charming, well done," John said tersely. Sherlock turned away from the door, now that Molly was out of sight.

"Just…saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" He had been helping her out like this for the past two years. What was the problem?

"Kinder? No, no. Sherlock, _that _wasn't kind." Sherlock needed a distraction, he needed to get back on the case and not think about how he had ended another one of Molly's short-lived relationships, even if it was for her own good. Ah, the shoes. It'd be funny to see John try and make a deduction about them. He needed a laugh right about now.

* * *

**If you watch this scene, Sherlock's expression when Molly storms out of the lab says a lot. It's like a "What? What did I say wrong?" type of expression. He was genuinely trying to help her out. I can see Sherlock interfering with a lot of Molly's relationships and pointing out what's wrong with them. Good in the long run for Molly, although I can imagine it's annoying.**


	4. Sick

**This has been lurking in my head for a little bit. The first half of the chapter takes place sometime during one of the two series and the second half takes place post series two. Enjoy!**

* * *

It wasn't often that Sherlock had to do without Molly's help at Bart's. He could walk in there any day and she'd be there, ready to let him use the lab or take home some eyeballs or examine a body. She was reliable, dependable, and predictable. Any times where she deviated from this routine, Sherlock was thrown off balance as well. She didn't get sick often, but when she did, Sherlock would be thoroughly annoyed. John Watson was witness to this behavior almost a year after moving in with the consulting detective. They came back from Bart's without access to the lab, without being allowed to see a body, and without those fingers that Sherlock wanted to experiment with. John sat down in a chair and picked up the paper, trying to ignore Sherlock's frustrated mumblings.

"Who gave that man a medical degree?" he growled.

"Stop complaining," John sighed. "He's only temporary. Besides, I'm more curious as to why Molly wasn't in. I hope she didn't come down with something. She was looking a bit peaky last time I saw her."

Sherlock stopped pacing. "You're right," he breathed. "It's a rare occasion, but you are absolutely right." He brought out his cell phone and dialed a number. That managed to get John's attention. Sherlock always texted and would only call under special circumstances.

"Who are you calling?" John asked. Sherlock ignored him. "You're not _seriously _calling her right now, are you? I just said she might be out sick! If she is, you should give her some peace." Sherlock waved at him to be quiet.

"Hello?" Molly's voice cracked at the other end of the line.

"Where are you?" Sherlock demanded.

"I'm at home," Molly said weakly from the other end of the line.

"Why?"

"Because I'm sick you berk! Normal people take a day off when they're sick."

Sherlock huffed. "So why does that mean you can't come in to work? Who are you worrying about getting sick? All of your patients are dead!"

"Sherlock!" John admonished. Sherlock glared at him.

"Your temporary replacement decided to be exceptionally difficult and overrule the permission that I was given years ago to use the lab!" Sherlock complained. "Everything I have become accustomed to at Bart's has been taken away in a single day. I am working on a case and that daft man at Bart's is not cooperating!"

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "So…you're calling me because someone isn't playing nice with you?" Molly joked. Sherlock frowned, looking dangerously close to pouting. "Look, Sherlock, if I get some rest and feel better I'll be back at Bart's in two days. Maybe three or four."

Sherlock's expression changed from pouty to alarmed in the blink of an eye. "You've never been out sick that long from work before. Even though your previous absences have set me back in my work, I've always relied on you being a remarkably quick healer and getting back to Bart's."

Molly groaned. "Well I have a fever, body aches, and every so often I have to vomit. All I need is to rest and I'll be back at Bart's in no time. I'll see about calling Bart's later and telling whoever is filling in for me to ease up on you. What was his name?"

"He wouldn't tell me his name," Sherlock scowled. "Kept on insisting I call him Doctor! Nothing else, just Doctor." Molly laughed at the other end of the line. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she lied. "I'm hanging up now. Good bye, Sherlock."

"But-" The line went dead. Sherlock tossed the phone aside, annoyed. Then picked up a pencil and a pad of paper and began writing rapidly.

"What are you doing?" John asked warily.

"Writing down instructions," Sherlock replied. "You are so very bad at remembering things unless they are written down or you have photographic evidence."

John put aside the newspaper. "I'm sorry? Instructions for _what _exactly?" Sherlock ignored him.

"I don't trust Molly's diagnosis of herself," he murmured. "She specializes in the dead, not the living. She has never been this sick before." He met John's questioning gaze briefly before handing over the paper to him. "Molly's address, her symptoms, and suggested ways to help her recover more quickly. I included her mobile number as well so you can text her and let her know that you're on your way to check up on her."

John shook his head. "Sherlock, _no._ I am not Molly's doctor."

"You can be her doctor for the time being," Sherlock said dismissively. He brought out his violin and began carefully tuning it.

"If Molly told you she'd be back on her feet in no time, then I trust her opinion over yours. I'm not checking up on her," John decided.

Sherlock scowled. "As I said before, Molly specializes in the _dead_, not treating illnesses."

"She still went to medical school, same as me!" John pointed out exasperated. "Molly will be fine, Sherlock. I'm not going over there." He picked up the newspaper again, wanting to end the conversation.

Sherlock crossed the room over to John and pointed his violin bow threateningly in his face. "Make. Her. _Better,_" Sherlock threatened.

"Honestly, Sherlock, could you be any more of a prat?" John snapped. "You treat the girl terribly, make her run around in circles to help you on cases, she bends the rules of the hospital for you all the time and she _still _puts up with you. Now you're trying to force her into good health again and for what? For lab access and body parts? Leave her alone, Sherlock." It was a tense minute as the two men glared at each other. Finally, Sherlock put his violin away again and stalked off to his room, slamming the door.

"What a child," John muttered. True to her word, Molly was back at Bart's within the next few days and Sherlock could pick up his work again. The only thing that changed was Molly promising to text next time she was going to be out sick and Sherlock promising to just leave her alone and let her recover.

* * *

Molly hated being sick. She felt useless whenever she came down with something. All she could do was lie down in bed, sip tea, and, if her head wasn't pounding, watching some movies on her laptop. The stupid sunlight was making her head hurt worse today and had to block it out with a pillow over her head. Her eyes cracked open when she heard the door to the bedroom open.

"If you try and make me drink more tea, they will never find the body," she croaked. "I'm getting bloody sick of tea."

"And if you continue talking, you won't be able to defend yourself in court when they _do _find the body," Sherlock warned. He lifted the pillow off of her head. Molly glared, Sherlock smiled.

"Besides, I didn't bring tea this time," he said, gesturing to what he had placed on the bedside table: a bowl of steaming soup, a glass of water, and some of her antibiotic medicine.

"Soup?" Molly said, voice cracking. She pushed herself up into a sitting position weakly. "You can't cook. At all."

"Mrs. Hudson helped," Sherlock admitted. "The idea was entirely my own, though. Thought of it shortly after the last time I brought you tea and you hit me over the head with your pillow."

Molly smiled a little and picked up the bowl of soup. It certainly looked like it had been prepared well enough. She experimentally tried a small spoonful with Sherlock watching her carefully, gauging her reaction. Molly nodded approvingly and Sherlock visibly relaxed. "How's the case going?"

"Solved," Sherlock answered. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on his side of the bed, picking up the newspaper. "The butler did it."

Molly set the soup back down and then swallowed the pill Sherlock had left for her. "Sorry I wasn't able to help you out on the case. I always pick the bloody worst times to get sick. If I could just-" Molly was silenced by Sherlock's finger on her lips.

"As I've said before, if you keep talking, you're going to lose your voice." He slowly began to remove his finger. "At this rate, you're starting to sound like you've been smoking for fifty years. A bit like my grandmother, actually." Molly leaned forward and bit his finger, hard enough to get the point across.

"What was that for?" Sherlock demanded. Molly picked up her bowl of soup again.

"Deduce." Nearly half the bowl was gone before Sherlock spoke again.

"I have trouble deducing you," he admitted. "Especially when you do irrational things like bite my finger. I'm lucky you are on antibiotics, otherwise I'd soon be falling ill and you'd be the one bringing _me _soup."

Molly rolled her eyes. "You do _not, _under any circumstances, compare your girlfriend to your grandmother. While we're on the subject, never compare me to your mother, either." She brought the spoon up to her mouth, then paused. "You were the one who got _me _sick, you clot! Why are you complaining?"

"I'm not." He pressed a quick peck to her cheek. "Take all the time you need to recover. There is no need for you to rush back to Bart's before you are ready."

Molly smiled. "That's a nice change."

* * *

**Dr. Who reference is obvious. I wasn't going to show these two as a couple for a while, but I couldn't resist. Originally, this was going to be a oneshot of Molly going on vacation and Sherlock having to deal with an annoying replacement. Molly's dislike of tea is based on the time I had bronchitis and my parents kept bringing me bottles of water. Yes, I got sick of water.**

**Sherlock does not like it when his pathologist is sick. And John has finally made an appearance. Please review.**


	5. Web of Lies

**This chapter is long and it's only part one! This takes place maybe a week or so after the events in the first chapter. **

* * *

All was quiet in 221B Baker Street. Well, it was mostly quiet. Sherlock was playing his violin, the tune sounding almost cheery. He had woken up his flatmate John Watson a bit earlier than he would've liked, considering what time he usually got up and when he retired to bed last night. It was also John's day off. People tended to get touchy when they were woken up early on their days off. He could hear the shower running now. Five more minutes and his friend would emerge. Mrs. Hudson was bustling about downstairs, putting more effort into her appearance than usual today. She'd be having tea with that man from the bookshop later. Sherlock would have to warn her that he was a compulsive gambler and was deep in debt but that the chef at the Italian restaurant she frequented was interested and there was seemingly nothing wrong with him.

His phone buzzed, alerting him to a text. Normally he wouldn't bother to look at his phone when he was trying to play, but he could see from the corner of his eye that Molly sent the text. She hadn't texted in a long while. Even before he insulted her and had to apologize with flowers. Curious, he set down his bow and picked up his phone.

_I've got an interesting body here._

_ -Molly_

Sherlock smiled and set down his violin, freeing up his other hand to type back his response.

_Interesting how?_

_ -SH_

_Just…interesting._

_ -Molly_

_ Tell me._

_ -SH_

_Nope. Sorry. Can't tell you. You can see it later when you come in like always._

_ -Molly_

Sherlock smirked. Molly had gotten bolder in their working relationship. He heard the water shut off from the shower. John would be in the sitting room soon. He hurriedly typed out a reply to Molly.

_You could at least send me a picture. Something to entice me further?_

_ -SH_

The picture that he received almost a minute later definitely piqued his interest.

_I'll be in later. I'll text you._

_ -SH_

He put his phone aside and picked up his violin again, plucking at the strings with his fingers. John came into the room in his robe and picked up the newspaper as he did every day. He seemed on edge and nervous about something today, though. Something was on his mind and it was starting to annoy Sherlock.

"What are your plans for today?" John asked, eyes not leaving the newspaper.

Sherlock hesitated to tell him about going to Bart's today to see the body Molly had texted him about. He opted for a vague lie instead. "Oh, I have some things to work on. Something mundane for Mycroft, maybe I'll go see Lestrade and see what needs my help. His work has been suffering lately."

John gave Sherlock a look over the top of the newspaper. "He _just _got his divorce finalized!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, four months ago. That's one-third of a year. Isn't it about time that he started focusing on his work and not trying to quell his libido with internet porn?"

"How-never mind. But if you repeat any of that to Lestrade, I won't be surprised if you're shot." John flipped the page of the newspaper and repositioned it so his face was hidden. "Do you know when Molly's shifts are at Bart's?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock slowly turned to look at his friend. "Do I know when her shifts are?" he repeated. "John, I have known Molly for several years longer than I've known you. I know everything about her. I know her favorite films in almost every genre, I know which television shows she owns on DVD, I know her favorite color, I know her favorite flower, I know which perfume she wears on a day to day basis and when she's attempting to cover up the smell of the mortuary at the end of the day, I know when her horrible beast of a mother has called her, I know when she's having a good day or a bad day before she says a single word. So yes, you would think that knowing all of that I would also know when her shifts are."

"How the hell do you know all that?" John said in astonishment. "All of that sounds like the sort of things you would have deleted because it's useless."

Sherlock suddenly became very interested in his violin again. "When you have known someone like Molly for as long as I have, some things can never be deleted," he explained. "Why are you asking about her shifts?"

Even Sherlock did not expect what John said next. "I was kind of thinking of asking her out."

Sherlock's head snapped around toward John again. "What?"

"I was thinking about asking Molly out," John repeated.

Sherlock almost looked baffled. "Asking her out?"

John sighed. "Yes, Sherlock. I wanted to ask Molly out on a date." Sherlock put his violin down and rapidly stood up, quickly crossing to the other side of the room. "Sherlock?" John said uncertainly. His friend whirled around, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Why do you want to ask Doctor Hooper out on a date? Why now?" Sherlock demanded.

John sighed and put the paper down. "I like her, Sherlock. She's a lovely person, I've known her for a reasonable amount of time now and I'd like to take her out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You just wish to have intercourse again. By the way, you might want to turn up the music when you're relieving yourself of the biological reminder that you are male." It took quite a bit of resolve on John's part not to punch Sherlock right then and there.

"No, I just want to take her out on a date," John insisted. "Maybe more if the first date goes well. _Then_ I can start thinking about…_that_. So could you just tell me when I can expect to run into her at Bart's? I don't have her schedule memorized like you do."

Sherlock felt uneasy and unsettled. It was almost as if the thought of his best friend persuing a possibly sexual relationship with his pathologist was making him physically ill. He quickly dashed that thought from his mind. It was impossible that such a reaction would occur, he told himself.

"She's actually working at Bart's right now," Sherlock said. He flipped open his laptop, even though he knew there would be no more new e-mail. "But I wouldn't ask her out, if I were you. Not right now; especially if you are looking to have a long term relationship with her."

John laughed. "Thanks, but I don't take dating advice from you." He left the room and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Three, two, one," Sherlock counted. Right on cue, John came back down the stairs and strode straight over to Sherlock, standing in front of him.

"Okay, _why _shouldn't I ask Molly out on a date right now?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock smiled. "I'm glad you asked, John. You see, like any other human being, Molly has patterns; especially when it comes to relationships. She just broke up with a boyfriend last month. After each boyfriend she has a transition man that she gets bored with rather quickly and she never sees them again. No matter how much she might like them, it's always the same. Here today, gone tomorrow. They're never heard from again. She never even mentions them because, to her, they're not worth mentioning."

John scoffed. "That is ridiculous. If that's true, why don't we ever hear of her mentioning these blokes in between her boyfriends?"

"Because they're _not worth mentioning_," Sherlock repeated. "You're the one who is always lecturing me about timing. What are your plans for today, John?" The army doctor sighed and went back to the stairs, dragging his feet.

"Oh, probably watching the telly with Mrs. Hudson…again."

When he heard John's bedroom door close, Sherlock felt a little guilty, but only a little. Yes, he had lied to his friend about why it wouldn't be wise to date Molly, but it had been for a good reason. Even if that reason was still uncertain.

* * *

"Lestrade fancies me," Molly finally spoke. She had been working in silence in the lab with Sherlock for some time now, trying to find a tactful way to bring up Lestrade. In the end, she decided that Sherlock would prefer if she was blunt and went straight to the point. Well, she certainly had his attention now. Of course, she didn't know of his conversation just a few hours earlier with John. She couldn't imagine the shock of the consulting detective who didn't even see _this _coming.

"Interesting statement, Molly," Sherlock said, turning away from the microscope. "What makes you say that?" She could be wrong. She could just be guessing and she could be very, very wrong.

"He asked me if I wanted to have coffee," Molly muttered, blushing.

Sherlock felt relieved for some reason. "You think he fancies you because he offered to get you coffee? You asked me the same question once."

"I was asking you _out _for coffee and Lestrade was doing the same to me," Molly snapped. Before she said that, there was only one other time Molly could say that she had seen Sherlock embarrassed. For a second, she could swear he was blushing, but that could just be the lighting in the lab.

"Oh," Sherlock finally said. "So, er, you were asked out by Lestrade. Interesting. What did you say?"

"Well I was about to go on my lunch break when he asked and you weren't here yet, so we had a cuppa up the road," Molly admitted. "It was nice and he said that we should do it again sometime and he'd call."

Sherlock frowned. First John, now Lestrade. Why were those two so determined to date Molly now? Didn't they know it could be disastrous for cases were she to date either one of them? He was starting to feel physically ill again.

"So, what do you think? Sherlock?" Molly snapped him from his thoughts and he focused his attentions on her again. "Every time I start to date someone, you always find one big thing that's wrong with them. I'd rather know now before I go out on an actual date whatever is wrong with Lestrade and why I shouldn't date him."

"You already sound like you _don't _want to date him," Sherlock pointed out.

"I _might!_" Molly insisted. "I'm just worried there's something wrong with him. Like all the others."

Sherlock nodded. The lies were forming in his head so easily. "Well, you'd be quite right, Molly. There _is _something wrong with Lestrade. First of all, he's only recently divorced-"

"That was four months ago," Molly interrupted.

"If it's within a year of being divorced, it is recent. As I was saying, he's recently divorced and even though he tries to deny it he is still, in some ways, attached to his ex-wife. He was the romantic one in the relationship and the romantic ones always have the harder time letting go completely. He does work odd hours and he could be called away to a crime scene at any minute. His sporadic availability is partially why his wife left him in the first place. Yes, you work odd hours, too; you must be _made for each other. _That's not true. With both of you having strange work schedules, you're less likely to be able to keep up with each other and the relationship will fall to shambles even faster. Being newly single after a divorce, Lestrade can go one of two ways. The first: he wants to try the single life again and date and bed a string of women and you will just be one of them. The second: he's desperate to find a stepmother to his two children and he'll latch on to the first woman he can find. More likely, he'll go on the second path as he has seen the photo of you and your nephew on your desk-you should update that photograph; your nephew was eighteen months in that picture and he just recently turned four. He will become clingy and push you away awfully fast; especially when you meet his beastly children. They have behavioural problems and have sent three child psychiatrists spiraling into nervous breakdowns. He's also become rather addicted to internet porn of the gay variety since his divorce. I also remember telling you some time ago that you should avoid future attempts at a relationship for the sake of law and order and I don't think that dating a member of London's police force would exactly be going with that advice. I could carry on, but I think I've made my point."

Molly felt deflated as usual after Sherlock dashed yet another one of her relationships in to pieces. At least this one hadn't gone past a simple coffee date. She'd have to decline if Lestrade tried to invite her out on a proper date. "How'd you know my nephew turned four?" Molly asked curiously. "And try to keep your answer short."

"Your brother came into town for business just last month, you were watching your nephew, John and I were investigating a case but he _insisted _that we go and say hello to you when we spotted you in the park with your nephew. Henry, wasn't it? Your nephew told me he just had a birthday party where he turned four. Then he asked me a lot of questions. John thought it was amusing. He is a rather intelligent child for his age, I'll give him that. Short enough for you?" Sherlock looked into the microscope again, adjusting the dials. Then he remembered another problem: John. What if he tried to persue a relationship with Molly again? True, his friend probably wouldn't be trying that any time soon, but he would eventually. He had to stop that now, didn't he?

"Speaking of John, I should warn you: he may try to ask you out on a date as well. He is still rather attached to his previous girlfriend despite his attempts at dating. Last date he went on ended up with him getting completely pissed, calling the girl by his ex girlfriends name, and then loudly singing off-key songs he said were dedicated to said ex girlfriend. So unless you want to be compared to Emma for an evening, I would turn down any invitation to a date that comes your way."

Molly shook her head. "That's a new record for you, Sherlock. Two possible relationships: gone in the blink of an eye."

Sherlock pushed back from the microscope. "I'm a consulting detective, I do this for a living and to steer you away from any relationships that could be detrimental to your emotional well being. You do not perform as well at your job when your emotions are in turmoil."

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. "There was _almost _something nice in that last statement. Almost. Headed out?" Sherlock was wrapping his scarf around his neck and had picked up his coat.

"I'm going to see Lestrade," he said. "There's almost always a case that the police are desperate for help with. Thanks for letting me see that body earlier; it had an interesting skin condition. Text me the results?" Without waiting for an answer, he strolled out of the lab.

* * *

"You're kidding!" Lestrade said. "I thought Molly liked kids! I'm not looking for a stepmother for my kids or anything, but I thought that if we had a relationship and it went anywhere, she'd be good for them. She talked all about her nephew over coffee!"

Sherlock's web of lies had one more factor: Lestrade. He needed to make sure Lestrade never tried to ask out Molly on a real and proper date. "Many people will also get excited over a puppy, but once that puppy is taken home and they have to feed it and teach it to go out behind the house for every bodily function, the novelty wears off. Molly loves her nephew until he's in the same room, then she can't wait for him to leave. You should have seen her with him when he was in town last month. John and I were investigating a case and saw her in the park with her nephew. She looked as if she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Not the kind of woman that might end up being your children's stepmother one day."

Lestrade took a gulp of his coffee, wishing it was alcohol instead. "Guess I'm starting over in the dating game. Again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I'm sure that's all good for you, but I'd appreciate it if you would tell me all about any cases you're having trouble with."

* * *

**And that concludes part one! Sherlock has stopped two possible relationships for Molly not with deductions, but with lies. Surely this won't blow up in his face, will it?**


End file.
